After the Third Day
by VioletzeEcoFreak
Summary: It takes three days for Stockholm Syndrome to set in. And after the third day Canada will lick the Empire's boots if he is asked to.


Prompt: Canada/England, Stockholm Syndrome

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England stroked Canada's hair gently as the young teen applied the salve to his own wrists.

"I'm sorry," England cooed. He made no effort to assist Canada in wrapping the bandages around his injuries, despite his slow, clearly pained fingers. "I was a little hard on you, wasn't I?"

"No, I'm the one who's sorry, England." He winced and dropped the roll of bandages, his job only half done. He left it on the floor. He enjoyed the sensation of his hair being stroked more than he wanted to cover his cuts and bruises. "I shouldn't have said what I did."

"You shouldn't have said what you did," England agreed, tugging his fingers free of a knot harder than was really necessary. "France is a whore and a pitiful weakling of a nation, you should be glad to be free of his dreadful influence. But," he added gently, placing one hand on Canada's perpetually sore shoulder and the other on his slick, folded hands. "I forgive you. You are still young and impulsive, Canada. All this will eventually pass."

"No!" Canada snapped, twisting his head sharply to face his owner. England's fingers dug into his shoulder, but he did not mind the pain any more than he ever had before. It hardly mattered in comparison to the surge of emotion he was trying and failing to quell. "I'm not too young! I'm old enough to know better, to control myself! I swear, I'll do better."

"Dear boy," England replied, adding his nails to his grip of Canada's shoulder. "You are only proving my point with this little outburst of yours." He chuckled as Canada submissively turned back and scooped up the now-dusty roll of bandages.

"I apologise," he murmured, properly shamed. He picked off a bit of fluff from the cloth. England laid a gentle kiss to the back of Canada's head and whispered, "I forgive you."

"But..." Canada wrung his fingers nervously, as he had so many times before. A rosy blush turned his entire face a beautiful red. "I'm _not_ a child." His hair fell around his face, hiding his blush from his Empire.

"I never said you were." England kissed him a second time, this time over ever-present bruise on his shoulder. Canada shuddered.

----

For all of England's teasing and taunting and gentleness, for all of Canada's love and devotion towards the Empire, he was no more precious to him than any other colony in his possession.

"Please, England!" he had begged once when the elder man had to leave for his home. "I love you! Please, don't leave me here. Please..." His face had been such a dark shade of red even England had been a little surprised. Canada had been so ashamed by his display of weakness and need, but England had gotten joy from the development. But when he noticed Canada clinging to his sleeve, he flung the child away and refused to bid him any goodbye. The boy had to remember, above all, his place.

Now, when England bid the child goodbye he did not touch the Empire, but said, "I love you! Take me with you, please, I'll prove that I'm good enough to be by your side! Please!" And he'd cry and blush without shame, and England would glory in such a dependency from his young, otherwise worthless colony.

----

England had turned on him in a second, his formerly sugary and forgiving demeanour giving away to his anger, his desire to punish his unruly colony.

"A rebellion?" he growled, taking a chunk of Canada's hair and shaking him by it. Canada could only whimper and choke on his tears. "You _dare_ rebel against me?"

"I'm sorry, England!" he sobbed. "I didn't want it! I didn't want to fight you!" England threw him to the ground. As Canada tried to bring himself upright he stepped on the boy's hand. A scream of pain tore itself from Canada's raw throat. England ground his foot into the fine bones in his hand and smirked when he heard the cracking. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" Was that all he could say? England sighed and lifted his foot. Immediately Canada brought his abused hand back to his chest. He curled in on himself.

"You were so weak, so helpless, you couldn't fight against me to save your own life," England said. "But because you were so good and loyal when America tried to steal you away from me, I will forgive you." Canada lifted his head, an expression of disbelief clear on his face. "Provided," England added, "you do a better job of keeping your people loyal to the Empire. It would not do to have disloyalty."

"Thank you," Canada gasped, bringing himself closer and closer to England's shoe's and laying his head at his owner's feet. "Thank you so much. I will be loyal until the end of time," he swore.

"Excellent. Now, go tend to your hand, we don't want it healing incorrectly." Canada stood weakly and obediently did as England commanded.

----

Canada had never expected to be told one day that, yes, he could briefly visit England's home.

"Only for the winter," he repeated sternly. "Come springtime you will be coming back here on your own, whether you like it or not."

"Of course, England. I understand. Thank you so much." All Canada seemed to be able to do was thank England over and over for whatever scant gifts he was receiving. The other colonies could do to learn from him, the Empire decided.

All winter it appeared Canada was blushing and stuttering and otherwise behaving as a child. He was quick to hear a command, rarely straying out of England's earshot no matter the thrashings he received for his transgressions, and quicker to obey it. The Empire was proud of how quickly he'd changed that angry, weak little colony to become a steadfast member of the Empire. The first three days were always the hardest, but afterwards Canada had submitted peacefully.

France visited only once during the winter, and England did his best to keep him and Canada separated. Nonetheless, Canada did confess to meeting with France once, during a peaceful evening while England was doing work.

"He asked me why I was hurt," he confessed uneasily. "I told him that you had to punish me for misbehaving. He said that you were doing a monstrous thing to me."

"And what did you say?" England pressed lazily, holding Canada in his lap despite his recent growth making him almost too big for this.

"I told him that I was doing the monstrous things and that you were just setting me right." The gangly youth curled against England's front as he had as an infant. "And then you showed up and he went away."

"And what has this taught you?" England asked. He would never allow a teaching opportunity to pass by.

"That you were right, and France is a liar and my enemy. I was wrong to miss him when I was younger," Canada said in his gentle monotone whisper.

"Excellent," England purred, curling one hand into Canada's hair gently and setting the other on the teenager's thigh. The boy's face was ruby red again. "Well done, my boy. Well done."

England bid Canada farewell the morning he was to leave in the parlour. "I will not be going to the docks with you. I trust you are old enough to guide yourself there," he said, sipping his tea slowly and thoughtfully.

"Of course," Canada replied. "Farewell, England." He bit his lip, as if considering another thought. England waited for him. "I still love you, you know. I'm not a child, I know what it means."

"Of course you do," he said smoothly, rising from the seat and setting his tea down on the table before him. "And I am extremely grateful for this loyalty, Canada." The boy froze in place as England drew nearer. He stopped within a very short distance to Canada and looked down at him. He tipped the boy's chin up, so he could stare directly into his eyes, and kissed the colony.

Canada flushed and nearly panted when England pulled away. It was an unexciting kiss, although the novelty of Canada's mouth somewhat made up for it, but the teenager was completely inexperienced in such matters and no doubt this was a thrill to him and his young body.

"Continue being a good boy," England promised, "and I shall continue to reward you." He set his hand on the bruise constantly on Canada's shoulder and squeezed into the finger-shaped patches he knew was under his shirt. Canada winced but stared up at him adoringly all the same.

----

A/N: I like writing darkfic, apparently. (And I know I like Stockholm Syndrome.) This is a fill from the kink meme I did, by the way. (As if that wasn't obvious.) Okay, no more parenthasis abuse.

The title comes from the fact that Stockholm Syndrome apparently takes three days to set in. The other historical thing of note is that the rebellion I'm referencing is the 1837 Rebellion (excuse me if the date's wrong). It was a massive failure.

Thank you for reading~


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